Pagan Siege (Tribes of Britain Book 5) by Sam Taw (10 best novels of all time TXT) 📕

and lift their spears. Others managed a couple of jabs and lunges, before our warriors opened their bellies. In a matter of moments, it rained entrails and blood.

Splattered in the gore of our enemies, Tallack’s patience wore thin. “Come out you coward and face me like a man!” There was no doubt as to whom my nephew was referring. More and more Alchemists ventured out of the entrance, some in a rage, others meek and timid as though Kenver had pushed them from the safety of the tunnel as a sacrifice to the gods. Few had the skill or experience to stand up against our warriors.

The bodies were piling up in the small space between the cliff and the defences, their blood ran underfoot and drained into the spike filled pits. I crept closer, edging my way up the slope and avoiding the run off and slick mud from the flood.

Kewri straggled behind me, his face pinched with pain. As I drew level with the clearing, I looked over my shoulder at him. For every step he made forwards, he slid further back on the sludge. Despite every effort to hurry, Kewri made no further progress.

Nectan was nowhere to be seen. Whether he was hiding through cowardice or had switched sides again to help his fellow clansmen, I could not say. Neither could I really hate him for such a crime. It was obvious that only a few of Kenver’s loyal clan agreed with the siege. These people were Nectan’s friends and relations. It would take a hard heart indeed to turn wholly against them.

Under the pale moonlight, it was easy to see where the pits lay ahead. Their sand covered rushes and thin supports were swept aside. I was able to squeeze myself tight against the defences, where the paling walls had stood, until I was able to see through a gap in the remaining hurdles.

Something stirred from within the tunnel entrance. Tallack, Massen, and the closest warriors made ready for an attack. With a swiftness that startled me, Kenver came out running, flanked either side by his trusted men. Tallack readied his mystical sword, swiping it through the air in a display of dominance. It did not deter the Alchemists.

Most of the miners brandished spears and shields, managing to deflect Senara’s and the other archer’s bolts. One knocked the feet out from under the shield maiden. She toppled off her perch, high on the huge boulder, and fell into the rocks and bracken on the outside of the defences with a winded groan.

Another miner twirled about on his heels, striking out at anything that lay in his path. At least one of our men was slashed across the thigh with his spear, another took a jab in the gut but miraculously stayed upright long enough to yank the spear from the Alchemist’s hand. The stricken Head Hunter crashed to the ground, holding in his guts. Without his weapon, the miner lifted his shield high above the Hunter’s head, ready to crush his skull.

Within moments, Senara was back up on her rock and showering the Alchemists with a quick-fire round of shots from her leather sling. Down they went, one after another as the shield maiden took out her spite on anyone who dared to cross her path. One shot laid low the whirling miner. He fell down in the churning mud right next to our gutted warrior. I had to get to him, try to save his life, but the closer I got to the gap in the defences, the more our men pushed me back.

Kenver squared up to Tallack with a blade of equal magnificence to that of our chief. From the smug grin on Tallack’s face, he had not noticed the Alchemist’s sword glimmering with the same silvery sheen as his own. My nephew lurched forwards, eager to take the head from Kenver’s shoulders. With both hands clasped about the hilt, he drew it back to shoulder height and swept it at our enemy.

Kenver was swift to react. He raised his sword to meet that of our leader. The blades clanged together with a deafening ring, neither man prepared to give way. They locked their strength against one another, baring teeth and snarling. Despite the raucous scrapping and thrashing fists and blades all around, I could not tear my gaze away from them.

Matched in height and weight, I’d hoped that my nephew’s youth would give him an advantage over the older man, but I hadn’t accounted for the Alchemist’s experience. Kenver squared his shoulders and pushed from the hip, forcing Tallack to slide backwards in the mud. Before he could regain his footing, Kenver twisted his wrists, circling his sword in an arc until he could thrust it up towards my nephew’s chin.

The whites of Tallack’s eyes shone in the torchlight. He hadn’t anticipated the move. Arching his back, he jerked his face out of the way, but the tip of Kenver’s blade caught his chin. It sliced clean through the flesh like he was made of pork dripping. Kenver followed this with another cross cut, his full strength directed into the downward force. Shaken and bleeding, Tallack was just able to meet the sword with his own, but his body was twisted and unable to deflect the blow. The mystical blade, sent through me from Cernonnus himself, was flicked from Tallack’s grasp.

“Watch out, boy!” I yelled, but it was too late. His heels teetered on the edge of the spike filled pit at the mouth of the defences. He had nowhere to run and a poised sword, moments away from cutting him down. Kenver grinned, lifting his blade high for the killing blow. He did not see Massen’s great hulking body staggering backwards from a lunging spear. They collided with a series of grunts, shoving Kenver a few steps closer to where I clung to the hurdles.

Tallack tried to regain his balance, tilting his shoulders forwards and scampering on the shifting soil. The trickle of